"I'd say so," Fred answered. "So far as we know. She was a minister's wife and did lots of good for folks. I'd say she was happy."
Donnie tugged at his mother's hem and motioned to the dress, nodding his head.
"I think he wants you to try it on," Cynthia said. Edith smiled but shook her head. Donnie continued to tug and look up at his mother.
Edith ignored him and sat back on the sofa, the dress still spread in front of her. She picked up the letters. "She wrote these?"
"No," Fred answered. "They was written to her. She was Annie Quincy. Anne Quincy Martin, after she married the minister fellow."
Edith began to unpile the rest of the clothes, half-slips, long drawers and top coverings that Dean assumed were forerunners of bras. There were a dozen articles of clothing in all and Edith examined each carefully. Dean picked up the comb, pen and ink bottle and passed them to her as well.
She held the shoes next to her feet. They were approximately the right size but too dried and twisted to wear. Smiling, she ran the comb through her long hair.
"Look," she said examining it. "It still has some hair on it! Do you suppose they belong to that woman?"
"I'd guess so," Fred answered. "I can't think who else would have used it in the last hundred years."
"They're blonde," Edith said, sounding disappointed. "I thought they might be auburn, like mine." She extracted the few filament-like strands and held them in her fingertips.
Cynthia went to the hall desk and brought back an envelope. "If they are that old, they're certainly worth saving."
Donnie picked up a pair of long legged drawers and held them up with a smile but Edith snatched them away and shook her finger in a mock scold. She continued to examine the articles. "It makes me feel really close to her. Annie. I hope she had a pleasant life."
Donnie renewed his pantomime request for Edith to try on the dress.
"Go ahead and try it on," Cynthia said. "You'd look lovely in it."
Dean was startled to see a tear slide down the woman's cheek. She placed the dress over the back of the sofa with care and rose. "Perhaps tomorrow." She turned to Donnie and reached for his hand. "It's time for bed."
The boy pulled away with a scowl and tapped on the newspaper puzzle, indicating he wasn't finished. Edith hesitated.
"The boy can stay down here with us if it's all right with you," Dean said. Donnie popped to his feet and brushed a kiss on his mother's cheek and resumed his work. Edith seemed confused, as if she wanted her son to accompany her but was hesitant to make a scene.